


14 Days Of DA Lovers 2020

by FreeTheMages



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: 14 days of DA Lovers, Addiction, Alcohol, Anders (Dragon Age) Positive, Bi Alistair, Canon-Typical Violence, Fighting, Gay, Injury, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Romance, Violence, bi cullen, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22535722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeTheMages/pseuds/FreeTheMages
Summary: I decided to take part! I can’t guarantee I’ll get them all done in the 14 days (especially as I am starting late) but I will try!Rated teen and up to give myself some leeway. I may adjust, and I will add relationship tags as they happen. Not sure which ships I will be doing for each day yet. They will Probably be rough but I really wanted to take part.Hope you enjoy!
Relationships: Alistair/Cullen Rutherford, Alistair/Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Alistair/Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Alistair/Male Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Alistair/Male Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Alistair/Male Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age), Anders/Karl Thekla, Anders/Male Hawke, Anders/Nathaniel Howe, Cullen Rutherford/Male Trevelyan, Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Male Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 23
Kudos: 56





	1. Day 1: Rose (Alistair x m!Amell)

**Author's Note:**

> First up, Alistair x Warden for Rose! Of course, it had to be. 😉

**Day 1: Rose (Alistair x m!Warden)**

Amell turned the pendant over in his hands as he sat by the fire. It had been a silly idea all along. 

Just three hours ago, the party had been locked in a ferocious battle with an almost overwhelming number of demons. 

Soldier’s peak had been a harrowing experience, indeed. And now here he was, agonising over such a trivial thing. 

On the nights he couldn’t sleep, the mage had been slowly working on the thing that he now held. 

It was effectively a miniature embroidery hoop made from wood, which had a scrap of linen cut from his own tunic sandwiched inside. 

At first he hadn’t thought much about what he was making, until he saw the red and green threads at a market place in some little village they had passed through. 

Not the deftest of seamsters, Amell had on several occasions stabbed his own fingers with his over-large needle. But in the end, the embroidery at least somewhat resembled his vision; it was a single red rose head, supported by a leaf. It had been a simple matter to attach the thing to some cord. 

Roses had been on his mind a lot lately, as had the man who had fostered such fascination. 

It seemed stupid now. Amell shook his head and internally cursed himself. 

“What’s that you’ve got?” came the curious voice, as Alistair re-entered the camp, loaded with firewood. His demeanour was cheerful despite the trying day they’d all had. He was just like that. 

Amell jumped on his perch, fumbling with his pocket to hide his creation. 

“Nothing!” He insisted, too loudly and far too quickly. Alistair rolled his amber coloured eyes and smirked. 

“Right, I forgot I’d gone blind there, for a second! Oh wait, I haven’t. Keeping secrets are we?” He teased.

 _Shit_. 

Amell sighed, a smile creeping on his lips despite himself. He looked up as Alistair placed the logs and sticks a ways from the fire. He motioned for Alistair to join him. Luckily the light from the fire did well to disguise his embarrassed blush. 

Alistair cocked his head. “Okay... what’s going on?” He stepped over and sat to Amell’s left. 

_Here goes nothing_...

“Well...” Amell struggled. He clasped his hands together, playing with his thumbs. 

“Maker, what’s wrong? Are we out of cheese? Is it the dog?” Alistair’s brow creased, despite his attempts to sound nonchalant. The warden wasn’t usually like this.

“I... made you something.” Amell looked apologetically at the man beside him. 

“You, what? You made something? For me?” Alistair’s eyes lit up. “Wow! You know, I don’t think anybody’s ever done that before!” He paused his exclamation of surprise to ponder, stroking his chin. “Nope! Definitely never had a handmade gift before! Ooh what is it? You aren’t going to make me wait, are you?” He pouted.

Amell chuckled, the knots in his stomach tightening a little, but not in fear. He sighed, removing the rose pendant from his pocket again but keeping his hand clasped around it. 

“It’s nothing, really. It was a silly idea...” he trailed off. Well, he had to give it to him now. 

He held out his hand expectantly for Alistair to offer his, and when he gave it, Amell placed the silly thing in Alistair’s upturned palm, and then used both hands to close Alistair’s fingers around it. 

“Maker...” Amell covered his face with his hands, the burning flush behind them exacerbated by the heat from the flames. 

Alistair raised an eyebrow, and curiously but slowly opened his hand, and used the other to lift the thing up to examine. His eyes went wide, and he was silent. 

“Maker I knew it was a bad idea,” Amell lamented without looking up. Alistair remained silent, eyes apparently transfixed. “It’s just that... remember the rose you gave me from Lothering? It meant a lot to me, and I still keep it pressed in my grimoire. I... wanted to give you something in return. But it’s-“ 

“Perfect.” Alistair whispered, interrupting the mage’s rambling. 

Amell looked up, a curve of surprise on his brow. Alistair was just... staring at the pendant with a grin on his face that seemed too large. His eyes sparkled with apparent wonder. Did he... like it?

“Really? You like it?” Amell asked, eyes widening. 

“Andraste’s sword, I love it!” He erupted. Before he could react, Amell found himself being squeezed tightly in between two very warm, strong arms. He responded in kind, hands spread on Alistair’s back, the fabric of his shirt gathering between his fingers. Alistair buried his face in between Amell’s shoulder and neck. Suddenly rather overcome with emotion, he let his tears slide unbidden from his eyes. 

They remained like that for several moments, before pulling away and gazing at each other through tear-glazed eyes. 

“Thank you. It’s... the most thoughtful gift I have ever had.” Alistair smiled sincerely, a blush rising up from his neck. 

“I’m glad.” Amell gently returned. 

Alistair took a moment to put the necklace on, and then looked up, beaming with pride. “There. Now I’ll always have you close.” He spoke more gently now, his face a picture of adoration. 

“I appear to be the cat that got the pigeon.” Amell tittered, Alistair’s jubilant laughter joining in. 

“Indeed.”

Amell took Alistair’s face in his hands, smiling briefly back before leaning in for a tender kiss. 

Thorns though they both had aplenty, together, they could bloom. 


	2. Day 2: Hand Holding (m!Handers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of 14 Days of DA Lovers Prompts! 
> 
> I had to do some hand holding for Handers 😉
> 
> I am doing these at my own pace, apologies for the delay!

Day 2: Hand Holding

After receiving Hawke’s promise to follow shortly and fight for the mages at his side, Orsino departed for the Gallows, shaking his head in sadness as he passed the apostate responsible for the explosion. 

A silent moment passed. The air was pregnant with tension and pain. Until finally, Hawke spoke. 

“If only you had told me, I’d have understood.” He lamented. It hurt that Anders hadn’t told him of his plans, but the deeper wound was the realisation that the man had harboured and carried the weight of his design alone for so long. He could have supported him; comforted him, instead of being blind to it all. 

“I wanted to tell you, love. But what if you stopped me? Or worse, what if you wanted to help? I couldn’t let you do that.” 

“This is my fight too, Anders. You didn’t have to go it alone. I don’t need protection, I need my partner to be honest with me.” 

“I am sorry, for what it is worth. Not for what I did. But for concealing it from you, and for the lives that were taken so that others could stand a chance. I deserve to die, it is just, for those who died and those who loved them. I didn’t do this for my benefit. It is enough to know that innocent mages may yet stand up for themselves.” Anders paused, bowing his head. “You should kill me.”

The man was maddeningly stubborn, but Garrett had always loved that about him. He moved so that he was stood in front of Anders. “Right,” he said. 

And then he held out his hand to the blond man.

Anders looked up, his brow knitting in confusion. He… wasn’t killing him? Could he truly still love him after this? Still want him by his side? Maker, it was too much to hope for, he didn’t deserve this man. 

Anders’ eyes glistened with the threat of tears, joy overwhelming him despite the dire situation as he reached up, grasped Garrett’s hand, and allowed him to pull him to a stand; but Hawke didn’t let go once he was on his feet. Instead, he brought his other hand and laid it on top, sandwiching Anders’ hand between his. He squeezed once. 

“Let’s do this. Together.” 


	3. Day 3: Bow And Arrow (Nanders)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel tries to teach Anders how to shoot arrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long overdue, here I am. And with a different ship! I had to have a bit of Nanders. ;)  
> I have a few of these prompts completed, but I wanted to post them in order, so it is taking a little longer. After this one, I should have a few of them ready to post relatively soon in quick succession. Thank you for your patience and continued readership :)

**Day 3: Bow & Arrow **

‘Will you just focus?’ Nathaniel groaned impatiently.

‘Alright, alright.’ Anders half chuckled. ‘Like this?’ He planted his feet firmly and redrew the bow, arrow already nocked. Nathaniel sighed in response. 

‘No, no, I already told you, you need to keep that arm straight back.’ Anders smirked when Nathaniel moved so he was flush against his back, guiding his arm into the proper position. ‘Keep it up to your face, that’s it.’ 

Anders took a moment to feel himself out, taking note of the exact way he was positioned. He did actually want to learn. But his concentration was broken when he felt hot breath just barely brush against the back of his neck. 

‘This is cosy,’ he teased. There was no way the archer wasn’t aware of his proximity, or the effect it invariably had on the apostate. Nathaniel’s gruff voice broke through his irritated sigh as he stepped back away. 

‘You’re never going to learn if you don’t take this seriously!’ 

‘I am taking this seriously! It’s not my fault my teacher is so… manly and hard to resist.’ Nathaniel’s face grew red, and he shook his head with exasperation. 

‘For fuck’s sake, Anders.’ He crossed his arms. 

‘Hey, I’ve learned lots already, no need to be such a stick in the mud, Howe, look!’ Anders took a deep breath, and released the arrow. It hit the ground several feet in front of the target. 

‘Maybe a stick up your arse would make you shoot better!’ Nathaniel regretted the words as soon as he spoke them.

‘That’s what I’ve been saying all along, see! Maker, you don’t half take your time.’ 

‘You are impossible.’ 

‘That’s what they call me; Impossible Anders. Impossible to keep locked away, impossible to temper, impossible to _resist_.’ He winked with the slightest forward thrust of his hips. It was dreadfully funny watching Howe grow redder and redder with annoyance and embarrassment; he was just too easy to tease.

Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair, face burning. ‘Alright, just listen. I am determined to have you hit the target -that is barely ten yards away, by the way- just _once_. One time, Anders. Come on.’ 

‘Alright. I’ll let you help me, no more games.’ Anders sighed. He nocked the next arrow as Nathaniel had shown him, and drew. This time when Nathaniel stepped in close, Anders did not make a comment; though he would be lying if he said it wasn’t still distracting. He held his breath as Nathaniel positioned Anders perfectly, placing one hand just underneath his right elbow, and the other around his left wrist, to assist with aim. 

‘Keep it up, no slouching, that’s it…’ Nathaniel spoke softly, closing one eye in an attempt to gauge the aim from his position. ‘Breathe, Anders.’ Anders’ eyes were focused on the target, though the electricity where Nate was touching him made sure that he was aware of his entire body. He let out a breath, and heaved in another deep one.

When he was fairly certain the arrow would hit, Nathaniel spoke again. ‘Aaaand, release.’ Just as he was told, Anders released the arrow, which sailed through the air and hit the target, just left of centre. He did it!

‘Yes!’ Anders cried, a triumphant grin on his face as he punched up in the air, immediately separating from Nathaniel. His tutor smiled softly, mumbling thanks to the Maker under his breath. _Finally._

‘Told you I’d be great at this!’ Anders chortled. 

‘So you did.’ Nathaniel replied with a roll of his eyes, and an amused chuckle of his own, smiling fondly. What was he going to do with this man? 

‘Right. Let’s pack up for the day.’ Nathaniel clapped his hands together, but before he could make a move to do so, he found that Anders’ hands were on either of his cheeks, and his lips followed immediately after. 

Nate’s shock quickly melted against the impassioned assault of his lips, and he wrapped his arms under the mage’s own and around his back. It was deep, almost pleading, and before either of the men knew it, they were on the floor, hands roving all over each other. 

‘You’re a terrible marksman, you know.’ Nathaniel mumbled in between hot kisses. 

‘And you’re a terrible teacher.’ Anders retorted, but neither teases were meant seriously, however accurate they were; as Anders’ kisses made their way down Nate’s neck, nothing could be further from the truth. 

The pair tasted each other like they had been starving to death, determined to get every morsel of sustenance they can from the other’s skin. Tongues and fingers wandered, hips grinding together there in the middle of the small field not far from their base. Each movement grew ever more raw and desperate, extracting deep groans and exultant whines from each of their throats.

‘Do you two mind?!’ came an incredulous voice, and the pair immediately jumped apart, dishevelled and flustered. 

‘Velanna! We-’ Nathaniel began to speak.

‘Oh, were you jealous? There’s really no need to be, there’s plenty of me to go around.’ Anders laughed heartily, as he helped Nathaniel to his feet. It took more than that to embarrass him. Nathaniel scowled at him, but accepted the help nonetheless.

Velanna scoffed. ‘You are wicked.’ 

‘Yes, well, takes one to know one.’ Anders grinned as he tidied his clothes up, and then picked up his quiver and bow. ‘I’ll see you both later. _Nathaniel.’_ He winked as he began to head back to the Keep. 

‘I don’t know what you see in him, I’m sure.’ Velanna spoke sardonically, though there was no _true_ malice in her voice.

‘Neither do I, my lady,’ Nathaniel sighed, unable to keep the small smirk off of his face as he picked up the rest of the gear and began to head back with her. ‘Neither do I.’ 


	4. Day 4: Napping Together (cullistairvelyan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition makes a visit to Denerim Palace. For cuddles!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another prompt done! :) this time its my ot3- Tristan Trevelyan/Alistair Theirin/Cullen Rutherford :3

**Day 4: Napping Together**

The Inquisition party arrived in Denerim shortly after five pm. Deep into Harvestmere, the sky had already grown dark save for the few lamps dotted throughout the city. They hadn’t rushed to arrive at a more acceptable hour, on account that the visit was only thinly veiled as official Inquisition business; the call was personal, and two of the party in particular were very excited after the long journey from Skyhold.

Commander Cullen Rutherford held out his hand to assist the Inquisitor down from his hart. A horse would have been far more inconspicuous, but Tristan was always loathe to ride on any animal except for his beast Kesri, and so the matter hadn’t been pushed. 

‘Thank you, love.’ Tristan smiled as he dropped to his feet, still grasping Cullen’s hand. It had been some months since he had lost his dominant arm, and though he was used to it, the assistance certainly didn’t hurt; some things would always be harder for him now, that’s just how it was. 

They were leaving their mounts at the inn where most of the party would be staying. The idea was to enter the palace quietly, with no fanfare; they were to complete the journey on foot, and without the entourage.

‘Thank you, we’ll see you all tomorrow.’ Cullen nodded as the mounts were led to the stables and he and Tristan were left alone in the street. He turned towards the Inquisitor, offering his left arm. “Shall we?” 

Tristan smiled softly as he accepted Cullen’s arm, and the pair began to head for Denerim Palace. 

The walk was thankfully uneventful, though Tristan did have to pull the hood of his cloak up eventually to avoid further gasps of recognition and subsequent staring, even in the low light. 

King Alistair had made sure that Cullen and Trevelyan both knew of all of the secret entrances and passageways into the castle, though this time they were simply going to use the servants’ entry. It wasn’t as if they needed true secrecy- a simple lack of fanfare would do. 

After making it inside and thanking the servants for their promise of discretion, the pair headed up into the castle proper. 

‘His majesty is currently in a meeting with the Banns.’ a decidedly disinterested old manservant informed them as they approached, and they gave each other a confused glance. It was awfully late for Alistair to still be in meetings; Tristan hoped that nothing too troublesome was going on. Still, it gave them a chance to choose the location of their surprise presence. 

‘Thank you.’ Cullen nodded at their informant and gestured for Tristan to lead the way towards the stairs to the King’s private quarters. They both knew their way around well by now.

After ascending the first flight, Cullen broke the silence. ‘So, where shall we wait?’ he asked with a mischievous glint in his eye, which made Tristan chuckle. 

‘Hmm…’ the Inquisitor thought for a moment. ‘We could wait until he is in his room and go in after him… Ah,no. I just want to get comfy already.’ he sighed. 

‘Then it is decided. We will just wait in his room. Maybe get cosy under the covers while we wait?’ he raised an eyebrow. Tristan smirked. 

‘I like the way you think, Commander.’ 

‘Well, my job _is_ to strategise…’ he squeezed Tristan’s upper arm as he placed a teasing kiss just in front of his ear. 

Thoroughly ready for the promise of cosiness, both hurried their pace and arrived at the King’s quarters in no time at all. 

‘Make sure he can’t see your outer things when he comes in’ Tristan giggled like an excited schoolboy as he spoke in a needlessly hushed voice to Cullen, who was removing his armour on the other side of the bed. 

‘Yes, I know.’ Cullen laughed in response, nearly toppling over as he rushed to get his foot free from its boot. Both were leaving their shirts and trousers on- for now.

The pair got into the enormous bed and huddled under the covers, whispering conspiratorially as they play-fought for space and position. Cullen wasn’t often in such a playful mood, much less after such a long journey; the excitement must be bubbling within him, Tristan mused. He always relished making the most of such times. Once situated so that they could both easily cover their heads with the plush duvet, they settled down, prepared to wait. With any luck, Alistair would arrive soon. 

-

As soon as the double doors closed behind him, Alistair let a deep sigh escape from his chest, and ran a hand through his thick strawberry-blond hair. Maker, what a pain in the arse kinging was. A rather uneasy agreement had _finally_ been reached between the Banns, but it seemed that every time a problem was solved, a million more would rear their ugly heads. Sometimes, Alistair swore the darkspawn were easy in comparison.

Oh well, at least now he was free to go collapse onto his bed, weary muscles and overwrought mind both needing to just stop for a while. 

On his way to the stairwell, he noticed a pair of maids giggling. They stopped rather abruptly and scuttled off when they noticed him looking. Huh, strange. Alistair shook his head and continued on his way; whatever it was was not about to make him late for his private appointment with his mattress. 

When he finally got to his room, he breathed a sigh of relief, immediately beginning to tug his furs off. Alone, at last. Or, that’s what he thought, until he noticed that his bed was looking particularly lumpy. And last he checked, beds didn’t tend to softly snore by themselves, either. Great. An intruder. 

Slowly and cautiously, he pulled his sword from the pile of clothing that he had just shed, and began to approach the bed. It could be anybody; a drunken chambermaid, or worse- an assassin. Alistair’s breath was coming too quickly for him to make use of as he approached, one hand outstretched towards the edge of the duvet. 

He yanked it free, and almost squealed at the sight, dropping his sword. It was Tristan and Cullen! Warmth and excitement freely filled the King’s chest, burning away any wariness he had felt before.  
Something told him that they had fallen asleep on their watch. He rolled his eyes fondly, before crossing his arms, slapping on his best unamused face, and loudly clearing his throat. The pair jumped awake with a start.

‘Just what do you think you’re doing in the King’s quarters? I could have you arrested for this!’ Alistair kept his voice as stern as he could as the two men looked up at him. 

‘Shit, we fell asleep!’ Tristan swore, smacking the covers with a fist. ‘You let us fall asleep, Rutherford!’ The Inquisitor frowned. Cullen simply laughed.

‘Me? Why didn’t _you_ keep us awake?’ he laughed again, turning to look up at Alistair. ‘Hello Alistair darling, er… Surprise?’ 

Alistair couldn’t keep it up any longer, and his face melted into a warm smile as he chuckled. ‘I could have run you through! What am I going to do with you both?’ 

‘Well, I’ve got a few ideas.’ Tristan smirked. Oh, but it was so good to see him. To be the three of them again after so long. 

‘Oh really?’ Alistair laughed, climbing onto the bed and pressing himself in between the pair. ‘I’d say I’m all ears but-’ Alistair broke off with a loud yawn, ‘it’s been a very long day.’

Cullen adjusted his position so that he was leaning his head on Alistair’s shoulder, arm over his abdomen. ‘You’ll hear no complaint from me, Your Majesty.’ He had caught the yawn from the King, earning an amused chuckle. 

‘I see I’m not the only one who has had a trying day. Maker, I’ve missed you both so.’ Alistair planted a kiss on Cullen’s forehead as the man mumbled in response, and then turned to face Tristan, his eyes met with a blue-grey stare. ‘I want to hear all about it, though I suspect we’ll all be in the fade soon.’ Alistair smiled fondly.

‘We’d hoped to catch up, but I agree. It’s so good to be near you again, my love.’ Tristan replied in a sleepy voice -spoiled plans all but forgotten- comforted by the King’s mere presence. He gave the King a chaste kiss, and then moved so that what remained of his left arm was underneath Alistair’s neck, supporting his head with his shoulder, and placed his right arm over Cullen’s. Perfect. 

‘I will want an explanation tomorrow, though, you’re not off the hook that easily-’ Alistair stopped when he realised that Tristan was snoring softly. He chuckled, careful not to disturb either of his guests, and got comfortable. He very much enjoyed being the filling in a love sandwich- hm. Sandwiches. He hadn’t had supper. Oh, void. Alistair sighed, but he wasn’t about to move. Not for Andraste herself. His boys were already dead to the world, and he wanted to join them in slumber. Their peaceful faces drew a lump in Alistair’s throat as he remembered they weren’t always here to fill his enormous bed; Skyhold was an awfully long way away.

And there he was, thinking that _he’d_ had an exhausting day.


	5. Day 5: Love Letter (Kanders)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter from Anders to Karl Thekla.

**Day 5: Love Letter**

My Dearest Karl,

It has been some time now since your last letter. When I arrived into Kirkwall I thought that I would perhaps be here for a month or so before I could spring you out of that prison and run from this accursed place, with your hand in mine. As always, things turned out to be much more complicated, didn’t they my love? 

Last week I managed to help those three young mages to freedom; we got them out of the city limits with only a minor scuffle. I have to wonder when it is your turn, and indeed if we should leave this city at all; there is so much to be done. You were always right, and it took me far too long to see that I have a responsibility to help our fellows. Justice helped me to open my eyes. For all the strife it has caused, I do not regret my joining with him. If I hadn’t, I don’t know that I would have made my way here, to you. And I love you so much. 

Even though we can see each other but rarely, and for only a few seconds at a time, my heart is lighter knowing that you are always close to me. 

One day, everyone will see the truth, and with the blessing that Andraste already gave us, we will live happy and free -with no templar in sight- and I will never leave your side again. We shall have a library for your work and I will work as the village healer out under the sun. One-hundred cats will visit daily for some milk and a fuss. Nobody will bat an eye as they pass their friendly mage neighbours in the street. No child shall be torn from his mother’s arms again for the accident of being born a mage.

My heart has room in it for only two things; mage rebellion, and you, my love. 

I will see every last templar cut down before I surrender my staff- for the mages will have freedom, one way or another.

I finally have the clinic in _(scribbled out)_ down to a somewhat reliable system, with the help of a few kind souls who do not see the mana in my veins as a threat, but as a salve for their ills. More refugees come to me every day, and I am honestly exhausted. But I do not care, I will do all I can to help these people, because it is just, and because I can. 

They will see that mages are not the monsters they fear. 

I miss you. Please write me soon, even if it is just with news of more who need help to flee. 

All my love, 

A.

P.s. My first draft of our manifesto is complete! I have included a copy with this letter. I would be eager to hear your notes when you next write!

_-A crumpled letter, hastily stuffed into the pocket of some now discarded robes._


	6. Day 6: Fighting Together (Alistair/m!Amell)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes battles are pretty easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with writing this one, and I have no experience writing battle/fight scenes, but I hope you enjoy it anyways!

**Day 6: Fighting Together**

Warden Amell gathered his mana, hands crackling with potential as he aimed for the hurlock archer with its sight set upon Alistair. He was busy fighting off two of his own darkspawn with broad strokes of his sword and batterings of his shield. The creature crumpled as its muscles spasmed with the electric shock, sending the arrow it had drawn sailing high over the warrior’s head. Tristan smirked to himself, before pulling his staff from his back. 

Even with just the two of them, this fight was easy. 

Alistair had cut down one of the beasts, and was driving his sword into the chest of the other as Tristan approached, alert but not breaking a sweat. 

‘Nice job.’

‘Thank you. I do rather like this sword. Nice and shiny.’ Alistair smiled, wiping darkspawn viscera from the blade. 

‘I can feel more of them further inside.’ Tristan spoke. Alistair nodded in agreement, keeping his weapon and shield at the ready as they began to follow the unmistakable prickling that announced their enemy was nearby. 

Tristan allowed him to lead, casting a shield on his beloved just in case. 

It was a good job too- moments later an arrow came soaring towards him, glancing harmlessly off the protective layer of energy. 

‘I can always count on you,’ Alistair sighed as he began to run ahead, sword raised. 

Following the blond into the darkness of the deeper parts of the cave, Tristan summoned a wisp to light his way. He caught flashes of silver as Alistair’s sword came down onto thick armour. The stench was awful in here, the darkspawn must have gathered for… something, who knew what? But that was something to think about once the place was cleared out. 

Amell whirled his staff in a great arc above his head before thrusting it forwards, sending surges of bright purple electricity towards the dark where the arrow had come from. Inhuman shrieks came in response, and Tristan planted his feet, pulling at his pool and extending a hand forwards with a quick grasp of his fingers to send the deepest of chills through the enemy, freezing one or two of them on the spot. 

_The less archers, the better._

He ran forwards until the wisp lit Alistair completely, revealing four or five more darkspawn descending on him. 

‘I have to say,’ Alistair spoke between rugged breaths, ‘it is much easier to fight when I can see my enemy.’ The half smile he pulled almost had Tristan laughing. 

Amell began to cast barrages of undifferentiated arcane energy, beating on the spawn whilst conserving his mana as the sweat began to pool at his brow. 

Shoving three of the creatures back with his shield, Alistair roared and brought his sword sweeping through the air and through two of them, just lacking in force to reach the third. Tristan turned his staff so that the blade faced the unharmed genlock and thrust it through the thing’s left eye. With a shriek, it buckled, and then grew as quiet as its bisected comrades.

Together, the pair made quick work of the remaining darkspawn, which had unfortunately included shrieks- Tristan’s least favourite. At least now they all lay on the ground, congealing black ichor spilled where they fell, splattering the men’s armour. They discovered that the cave had been functioning as something of an armoury, which explained the lingering presence and acrid air. 

Certain that all darkspawn in the vicinity had been dispatched with a quick test of the sense, they headed back to camp. Thankfully, they had set up near to a gentle stream, so a much-needed clean up was possible. 

Amell reached it first, waving a greeting to the party that had stayed behind as he passed, and quickly discarding his staff, armour, and smallclothes. He sat in the water, resting his back against the bank with a sigh. The water was very cold, but he made quick work of that, ensuring the temperature was comfortable as Alistair slipped in next to him. 

‘Ah, the benefits of having a mage for a lover; warm baths wherever you like.’

Tristan chuckled, raising an eyebrow at the man. ‘Glad I could be of use.’ he settled his head on Alistair’s shoulder, clasping his hand. A frown grew as he lifted Alistair’s lower arm from below the water, however, examining a sizable and angry looking gash just beneath his elbow. 

‘Alistair, why didn’t you say anything?’ Amell sat up, gazing concernedly into Alistair’s golden brown eyes. The man shrugged in response.

‘It’s not that bad, I didn’t want to worry you.’ Tristan shook his head and sighed. 

‘Here, let me help.’ Lifting up Alistair’s arm with one hand, and placing his other over the wound, Tristan closed his eyes, summoning healing magic into his palm, pulling deeply at his dwindled reserves. He wasn’t the most skilled healer by a long shot, but with enough effort, he would be able to close the wound up well enough. 

He felt the sinew, muscle and skin of Alistair’s arm knit back together beneath his hand as a soft blue light illuminated his palm and fingers. Soon all that remained was a thin line where the gash had been. It would scar, but that was okay. 

‘Thank you, my love.’ Alistair smiled, flexing his newly healed arm once before pulling Tristan into an embrace, leaving a peck on his cheek. Tristan couldn’t help but to smile in response, his chest filling, smothering the aches of battle into insignificance. 

The pair kissed in earnest then, melting together in the magically warm bubble of the stream, content.   
Some days, the battle to defeat the archdemon and end the blight felt like an impossible task heavy on their shoulders, and other days -like today- a small but determined flame of hope within them was kindled, and as long as they were together, it didn’t feel quite so daunting.


	7. Day 7: Love Birds (m!Handers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favourite bird mage has some trouble with feathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! This one has actually been written for a couple of months, I'm so glad to finally post it!  
> Hope you enjoy :)

**Day 7: Love Birds**

Anders’ face was a picture of concentration, his tongue sticking out between his lips as he delicately stitched the feather to his pauldrons. He was trying not to damage the quill. Alas, this one was particularly brittle, and it split under the pressure of the needle and thread. 

‘Andraste’s tits!’ he exhaled in frustration, throwing everything back onto the table. 

Just then, a dark mop of chaotic hair appeared around the edge of the door frame. ‘Everything alright, Anders?’ Hawke asked, raising an eyebrow at the sulky expression on the blond man’s face. When he didn’t get an answer, he walked over to the table in the small office, lifting the discarded mass of feathers up to examine it. ‘You know, pretty soon your shoulders are going to collapse under the weight of so many feathers.’ he chuckled. Anders huffed in response.

‘Nonsense. Besides, I want to show off all the lovely feathers you have found for me.’ he leaned his chin into his hands, staring at the pile of thus far unused feathers. It was true that by now he had a veritable aviary worth of the things. Noticing the large, brightly coloured feather that stuck out from the rest of comparatively dull ones, he reached out for it, and turned to Hawke without raising his head from his other palm.

‘Do you remember this one? It’s from the Simir bird.’ Anders smiled fondly at his most prized feather- one he still hadn’t found a place for. 

‘I do,’ Hawke answered, taking the feather from his lover and holding it up to the light, stroking the slightly fluffed part near the base of the quill. ‘We found it in the grounds of Chateau Haine. Just about the only good thing in that place.’ 

Anders gave a soft chuckle. ‘Yes, that’s right. You know, it is a very rare bird. This is also the very first feather you picked up for me.’

‘So it is,’ Garrett smiled as he ran the tip of the feather teasingly along Anders’ jawline, earning a shudder and a stifled titter. Anders snatched the feather back from his lover, his lips quirking in amusement as his amber eyes tried and failed to convey exasperation. 

‘It’s a special feather, I need to have it pride of place. But it doesn’t fit in with my jacket- plus I don’t want to damage it.’ Anders’ look of deep contemplation returned; it was a sight that by now, Hawke was used to- in fact, the mage rarely wore any other expression these days. 

Garrett stroked his bearded chin in thought, scanning his mind for even the smallest, silliest idea. Then his eyes lit up and he grinned proudly.

‘I’ve got it, come on- and keep a hold of that feather.’ he held his hand out to Anders, and didn’t wait for the taller man to make it to his feet before he began pulling him in the direction of the bedroom. 

Anders barked a laugh, but allowed Hawke to guide him anyway. ‘Love, much as I appreciate your adventurous endeavours following us to bed, that’s really not what I had in mind for-’

‘Hush, and just follow me.’ Hawke interrupted, still pulling Anders by the hand. 

When they got to the bedroom, Hawke let go of Anders and made his way over to a drawer in his desk. Anders raised an eyebrow as he watched him curiously. He had absolutely no idea what was running through Garrett’s mind, as was often the case when he became a man on a mission out of seemingly nowhere- Hawke wasn’t one to explain; he prefered to show.

‘Aha, here we are.’ Garrett exclaimed as he held up a scrap of red cloth that could perhaps serve as a scarf for a very small child, or a very large doll, and then pulled out another needle and thread. Anders only grew more confused. 

‘What are you doing, Hawke?’ Anders’ lips curled into a faint smirk despite himself. They say that curiosity killed the cat- but Anders knew that was only half of the idiom. He approached Hawke, who had sat down, knotting the end of a piece of thread in preparation. 

‘Just give me the feather.’ came Garrett’s answer as he held a hand up without looking. Anders obliged, watching over his shoulder as first he carefully pierced a small hole in the base of the quill. Reinforcing the quill with threads wrapping around and through the new hole a few times, Hawke then stitched the feather to the middle of the red cloth so that it hung loosely from it. 

Anders found himself being shooed out of the way as Hawke stood up and collected Anders’ staff from its place propped against the wall. He watched, confusion beginning to clear as Garrett wrapped the cloth around the staff, just underneath the decorative head of it. He tied it tightly and beamed as he handed the newly adorned staff back to its owner. 

‘There. Pride of place.’ 

The feather hung prettily from the staff, held in place by a new favour to match the hair tie. Anders’ eyes crinkled and he began to laugh, a light titter growing into a deeper rumble. Hawke frowned just slightly. This wasn’t the response he had expected. 

‘Well _I_ thought it was a good idea…’ 

Anders wiped a tear from his eye, his laugh subsiding enough for him to speak when he noticed the disappointment on the man’s face. ‘I love it! It’s perfect, you big goof. And I love _you._ ’ He threw his arms around his partner and hugged him close. ‘Now I will think of you every time I cast with my staff.’

Garrett grinned, joining in with the laughter. ‘Perfect. Especially when you get the templars.’ He squeezed back against the taller man, burying his face against the crook of his neck and inhaling the familiar sharp scent of dried elfroot and fresh mint. 

‘Do you… want to have a bit of fun with our _special staves?_ ’ He teased his breath across Anders’ bare neck before leaning back to flash him an impish smirk.

Anders chuckled, moving a hand up to caress Garrett’s cheek. ‘Now _that_ is the best idea I’ve heard all day.’ He leaned in and began to kiss him earnestly, pulling his staff from Hawke’s hand and propping it back against the wall, before leading him backwards, no sign of breaking the contact between their lips.

When the back of Garrett’s knees hit the edge of the bed, he allowed himself to fall onto his back, pulling Anders with him. For a moment the blond man broke the kiss, staring down at his soulmate with soft, love-saturated golden eyes.

‘You are more than I ever dared hope for.’ 

Hawke simply pulled him down to resume the kiss, determined to show the healer just how much he loved him, feathers and all.


	8. Day 8: Patching Up (m!handers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke gets into a fight at The Hanged Man. Thankfully, he has a spirit healer looking out for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been an absolute pain. I've been trying to write it for months, but I have finally finished, accepting that this is all I can do with this one- we can't always love what we produce, but I'd rather have something up for this prompt than nothing.  
> I'm relieved to have it finished, that's for sure.  
> I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

**Day 8: Patching Up**

Anders was beginning to grow worried. Garrett usually wasn’t so late back from The Hanged Man on nights he wasn’t joined by Anders. But he was a grown man, he could handle himself- at least that’s what Anders found himself repeating in his head. 

After approximately an hour of trying and failing to make more copies of his manifesto, due to mistakes and the wonky writing of a man too distracted, the healer gave up, and resolved to go to the dingy tavern himself. Ostensibly, he would be there to join the group for a flagon or two. 

-

‘Yoooooou filthy son of a nug-humper!’ Hawke slurred, a finger pointed accusingly at the dwarven stranger. He had had it about up to _here_ with ungrateful mundanes begging for his assistance one day and then condemning his magic use the next.

‘Don’t make me repeat myself, human.’ the dwarf squawked, equally as sloshed. ‘We don’t need your kind bringing the templars down on us.’ he continued, voice harsh as could be expected given the sheer volume of ale he had been consuming since the early afternoon.

‘You just did!’ Garrett smirked. ‘Sh-shows what you know, shorty. My magic is ten times as useful as any of your _fine dwarven crafts_.’ 

Somehow, the angry dwarf’s blotchy face grew redder, mouth curling into a snarl.

‘You come and say that to my face!’ he growled. With a smarmy grin, Hawke bent double, the way one would when speaking to a child, getting close to the man’s bearded face. 

‘You heard me. Don’t make me repeat myself, _dwarf_.’ 

-

Anders arrived at the tavern, just in time to witness the argument that was growing more and more tense. _Maker’s breath, Hawke._ Anders sighed and shook his head, clasping his forehead for a moment before walking further in, and standing at the side of the bar. He would intervene if he had to, but he -perhaps foolishly- hoped that the matter would resolve itself. After all, Garrett was a decent, level headed man… when he was sober. 

When Garrett bent down and slurred what Anders had to assume was a characteristically witty remark, the dwarf roared in anger, and swung a meaty fist. He saw it happen in slow motion; _heard_ the crack of knuckles connecting with nose. And Hawke reared backwards.

Anders groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. _Wonderful_. It had gotten physical, and he knew his fellow mage was not one to walk away from a fight. 

‘You bastard!’ Hawke growled, feeling the blood pour from a nostril with his fingers. The dwarf was now wearing a satisfied smile, thoroughly pleased with himself. Once again, Anders saw what was about to happen, but not soon enough to do anything about it. 

Hawke pulled his own fist back, swinging in the direction of the greasy dwarf- but the drink was clearly affecting his aim. His feet were unsteady, and his fist missed its target, instead careening into the jaw of another, slightly taller dwarf. That did it. 

Suddenly chairs were screeching across the filthy floor as more dwarves, and a couple of opportunist humans stood up, all glaring at the blood soaked face of Garrett Hawke. The man rolled his eyes and scoffed. 

‘Really? Well okay, if you all want some.’ 

What ensued was a mass of flinging fists, and even some bottles and steins. Anders watched, anger, annoyance, and _worry_ , all battling for domination in his head. 

_And you believe he is an ideal ally?_

The blond man shook his head, tossing away Justice’s- _his_ thoughts. ‘He’s a bloody idiot.’ he muttered, ‘but he’s my bloody idiot.’. Anders stepped forward, focusing his gaze upon Garrett within the mass of limbs and beards and groans. This had gone on long enough already.

Suddenly there was a bright flash and a distinct charge in the air, accompanied by a grunt, as Hawke flung his arms out, and sent each and every one of his attackers hurtling in all directions. Some knocked into other people, others into tables, knocking them down along with the drinks upon them. Others hit the walls with loud thuds.

Without a word, Anders approached the man, grasping his wrist and brandishing his staff in front of them both. Hawke was shaking -Anders could feel it- and wore a furious snarl on his face; almost daring people to attack him again. He barely acknowledged his partner’s presence. 

Some of the assailants were recovering, masks of fury upon their ruddy faces as they turned back to the mage. ‘I told you! Nothing but trouble, robes are!’ the ring leader sneered, grasping his side. The air was stifling, thick with heat and alcohol and rage. But as they moved to approach once more, Anders stepped in front of Hawke, staff firmly in hand, with a thunderous face that no person with working eyes could mistake as friendly or forgiving. The brief flash of blue that crossed his glare almost dared anybody to move a step closer. They did not. 

‘Apologies Corff. I’m taking him home now.’ Anders spoke in a measured voice to the barkeep without glancing his way. He moved from his defensive stance, gripped Hawke’s arm once more, and turned to leave, pulling the drunk with him. Hawke stumbled after him, words of complaint and insistences to stay for one more drink only half formed when they fell from his mouth.

Once the door was closed, Anders rounded on Garrett, holding him upright against the wall. 

‘What were you thinking Hawke? Of all the stupid stunts to pull-’ Anders stopped himself and sighed deeply, thumb and forefinger of his free hand again rising to the bridge of his nose. Hawke hadn’t been thinking, that was the point. And now Hawke was frowning at him as if he hadn’t just prevented any further damage to him or indeed the cause of the mages by dragging him away.

‘I could-a taken ‘em! And I wasn’t even finished with my last drink!’ Hawke shouted far too loudly for streets that teemed with bandits spoiling for a fight. Anders simply sighed again, pulling Hawke’s left arm over his shoulders and hefting him upright and away from the wall. 

‘You need to be more careful, you fool.’ Anders spoke with a strained voice as he struggled to keep Garrett on two feet, beginning the journey to his Darktown clinic.

‘That dwarf was goading me!’ Hawke slurred bitterly. 

‘And you proved him right about magic.’ 

At this, Hawke cringed. Anders was right; they both knew it. The situation was precarious. He stopped moving forward, causing his blond saviour to sigh. 

‘I- I know.’ he said. ‘I’m sorry Anders, I-’

‘Hush, you can make your apologies when you aren’t bleeding all over me. Come on.’ Anders tugged hard at Hawke, and the man allowed himself to be guided once more. 

The streets were poorly lit, especially as they approached the stairs down to Darktown; more than a few times Garrett, still drunk but not enough to numb the pain in most of his body, tripped and slipped. It was a good job Anders had a good grip on him. It was with a great relieved sigh that they saw the entrance to the clinic in the distance, with its doused lanterns above the doorway.

Once at the clinic, Anders dragged a cot from up against the wall and helped Garrett onto it. Hawke wrapped his arms around Anders’ shoulders and then sighed needily as the healer pulled away. ‘Take your shirt off.’ Anders instructed as he left Hawke’s side to find the necessary tools. 

‘Kinky’ Hawke said, his voice a somewhat pained growl as he tugged his shirt over his head. He hadn’t been wearing his armour, which explained why he was hurting so much. 

Anders shook his head as he filled a bowl with water and heated it with a hand. ‘Not tonight.’ he returned with a bowl and cloth, and just a sprig of elfroot. ‘Now hold still.’ He began to wipe clean the various wounds around the mage’s face, arms, shoulders and sides. Garrett fidgeted, earning more than one exasperated sigh. 

His nose was clearly broken, as well as a rib or two, so Anders began there. Summoning eager mana into a brilliant blue light that danced around his fingertips, the former warden knitted bone and cartilage back together with ease, before moving on to the open wounds. 

Hawke would never be able to explain the feeling of being healed like this- at first it stung, and then sort of itched, but the pain was always much duller afterwards, if present at all. The fresh-feeling ease and energy left behind was somewhat pleasant. 

‘It’s so sexy how you glow like that,’ Garrett remarked as Anders worked on the bruising along his right side. He could see the tautness in Anders’ neck as he swallowed. 

‘Oh I know,’ his healer responded, still mostly focused on what he was doing. ‘But you know, you are far sexier when your state requires a different sort of care.’ 

Hawke sighed loudly, disappointment joining the dull wash of alcohol still running through his veins. 

‘There. Much better.’ After checking for any missed damage, Anders gave Hawke a gentle kiss on the forehead. 

‘Don’t I get a treat for being a good patient?’

Anders sighed and leaned into Hawke, lips achingly close; he could almost taste the man. Garrett’s eyes closed, waiting for them to meet. They flew open once again, however, when he felt the small sprig of elfroot being slotted in between his lips instead. _Sigh._ He really wasn’t going to get any tonight. 

‘Chew it.’ Anders instructed, and moved to put away his simple tools, ready to return to the manor.

Hawke was _definitely_ not getting any tonight.


	9. Day 9: Bee (Mine) (Cullen x m!Trevelyan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and the Inquisitor are in the garden tending to their crystal grace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some nice Cullen love, Cullevelyan this time!
> 
> The next update will be the long-awaited first kiss of Cullen and Tristan, which also goes alongside my other fic, The Commander's DIary. I've had it ready to post for months, and I am excited to finally post it. Stay tuned ;)

**Day 9: Bee (Mine)**

Tristan sighed contentedly as he tended to the crystal grace patch in Skyhold’s garden. They looked positively glowing in full bloom. 

‘Coin for your thoughts?’ Cullen enquired with a smile as he carried a watering can over to the Inquisitor. Tristan looked up at the Commander from his crouching position, beaming. He’d never get over the beautiful amber eyes that gazed upon him so filled with love; despite everything going on in Thedas, he couldn’t help but feel immensely lucky. 

‘They really are looking beautiful, are they not?’ the mage answered, caressing the delicate blue bell shape of the flower as if to illustrate his point. 

‘They are.’ Cullen mused as he looked at the plants that they’d tended together since the bulbs were placed back in Firstfall. Then he moved his gaze back towards Tristan, a dash of colour rising in his cheeks, but he otherwise remained steady. ‘But not the most beautiful thing in sight just at this moment.’ His smile was soft as his eyes, the sight of his partner in all things doing much to bolster Cullen’s willingness to share his true moods as he never used to. 

The Inquisitor blushed a deep scarlet, reaching even the tips of his ears. He stood up from his crouch and rubbed his elbow self-consciously, his lips curving upwards and giving him no say in the matter. 

‘Flatterer.’ 

‘Is it flattery if it is true?’ Cullen almost chuckled, and Tristan’s legs suddenly became very wobbly. He closed the distance between them and put his arms around the Commander, burying his face in his fur mantle- half in an effort to hide his violent flush. The man laughed and wrapped his arms around the Inquisitor as best as he could with one hand still clutching the watering can. 

‘I love you so much.’ Trevelyan’s voice was muffled against Cullen’s shoulder but not enough to obscure the words that sent the man’s heart racing, accompanied by flutters of the stomach. Cullen let the can drop from his hand, sending water everywhere as he lifted both to either side of Tristan’s head, moving his face to look at him, inches away. Tristan bit his lip, his blue-grey eyes searching Cullen’s honey hues. 

‘Maker, the one thing I am truly certain of these days is just how much I love you too. You drive me mad, man.’ and before the Inquisitor could respond to such a fervent declaration, his lips were crushed beneath Cullen’s urgent and intense kisses. 

They stayed that way for a few moments, until they were startled by a gentle and ethereal voice. 

‘ _Stubble, scratchy but soft, lips that taste of joy. He is home, now. Masculine and comforting and everything that is good. I never pictured such things going together but they fit so perfectly now. Another “him”. Never considered such possibilities but Maker’s breath I never want to lose him._ ’ 

It was Cullen’s turn to flush beet red, his hand snapping to its comfort place behind his neck as he took a small step back. 

Cole had appeared, sitting on the top of the wall that surrounded the garden. His words took a moment for Tristan to process, but when he did, his smile threatened to split his face in two. 

Cullen cursed under his breath. ‘Cole- we’ve talked about this.’ 

‘Sorry. You were just so loud.’ 

Tristan giggled softly as Cullen’s skin continued to change shades. Then he pulled him back for another kiss. Cullen melted against him almost instantly. Cole waited until the men were finished, gently swinging his legs on the edge of the wall. 

‘Was there something else, Cole?’ Tristan smiled at the boy once he had regained a little composure from the heated kiss. 

‘Yes.’ Cole answered. 

‘And… that was?’

Cole turned to look at Cullen before he began to speak. ‘You have some new roommates in your office. Lots of them. Sera said you needed some more little friends but actually I don’t think they’d like being in there with you. Your hair smells sweet but there’s no pollen in it.’ 

‘Pollen in my hair… _little friends…?’_ Cullen was confused. 

‘Oh, for the love of Andraste…’ Tristan groaned as it clicked in his head. Why was he not surprised?

‘What is he talking about?’ asked Cullen. But Tristan didn’t seem to hear him as he continued to speak.

‘Her and those bloody bees. Thank you for warning us, Cole.’ Tristan nodded towards the spirit and shook his head once he disappeared. 

The Commander’s face was painted in alarm as the words dawned on him, and then his features twisted with irritation. ‘That damned elf!’

‘Come on, let’s get this sorted out. The flowers can wait. We can bring the bees out here and let them do what they do.’ Tristan offered his hand to Cullen, whose face was set into an exasperated frown. He took it, nevertheless, and together they marched back into the fortress. 

Well, at least it wasn’t demons.


	10. Day 10: Surprise Kiss (Cullen x m!Trevelyan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan returns to Skyhold, finding Commander Cullen in a bit of a state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it finally is! After so many months, I am finally posting the first time Cullen and Tristan kiss!
> 
> A million apologies to all those who have been waiting since The Commander's Diary went on hiatus, I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> You will recognise some of the dialogue as I have taken parts from the game- I decided to combine two moments with Cullen in game into one. I hope it worked!
> 
> As always, your readership means the world- please enjoy ^.^

**Day 10: Surprise Kiss**

Tristan had only been back at Skyhold for all of ten minutes when he was carted into the war room by his Ambassador and Spymaster.   
At least the others could take the time to relax, he supposed. It had been a long and chilly trek back to their base of operations, and he’d barely had time to shed his soaked outer layers when he was accosted. The world didn’t sleep, however- and apparently, neither did Inquisitor Trevelyan.

He sighed and complained his way through the various menial decisions they had him make, before he became aware of the absence of a certain fuzzy-mantled warrior in the room. 

‘Where is the Commander?’ he inquired, raising a curious brow. Tristan wasn’t  _ concerned _ , exactly, though it was very unlike Cullen to not attend such meetings. When Leliana and Josephine exchanged strange looks, however, he began to worry. 

‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, his voice rising slightly in pitch, though he remained quiet enough to maintain the pretence of some sort of calm.

‘Inquisitor, the Commander is-’ Josephine trailed off, appearing to debate in her mind on her next few words. 

‘The Commander is  _ what?’ _ Tristan pressed, the frown of his brow growing more prominent. 

‘-Fine. He’s alright.’ Leliana spoke just as Josephine was about to. Tristan’s tight shoulders softened only infinitesimally, as it was clear something was left unsaid. ‘Cullen must speak with you himself; it is of a… more personal nature. And not ours to share.’ 

This revelation served only to feed Tristan’s concern, who was now stood bolt upright. 

‘Why didn’t you say anything earlier? I must go and see him at once-’ He spoke with new urgency, any tiredness he felt before quelled by concern for the Commander, that in all honesty he hadn’t expected to have. He began to move towards the door

‘Now is probably not the best time, my Lord-’ Josephine tried to suggest, but he was already opening the door and stepping over the threshold. 

‘Nonsense, I would know what has my Commander so indisposed.’ He was gone before either woman could stop him, and they both simply looked at each other with concern in their eyes. 

‘Well, Cullen is going to be delighted with us.’ the Ambassador lamented. Leliana sighed in response with a shake of her head. It wasn’t going to be fun for anyone. 

-

The Inquisitor stalked through Josephine’s office and the main hall, only acknowledging Solas with a curt nod as he passed through the rotunda and out onto the battlements. He stopped short of the Commander’s door, suddenly aware that his present state would do nothing to make the situation easy for either of them; and if he was honest, nerves had suddenly sprung in the pit of his stomach. He took a moment to steady his breathing and smooth out his windswept hair, before placing a gentle knock at the door.

‘What?’ came the reply from within. Cullen sounded irritated, to put it mildly. Tristan swallowed and opened the door. 

‘Commander Cullen I- are you alright?’ Tristan stopped short as he noticed the pained expression on Cullen’s face. 

‘Maker’s breath, I didn’t realise it was you… forgive me.’ Cullen’s voice was slightly breathy, his weight leaning upon his desk, hunched forwards slightly. A jolt of worry surged down to Tristan’s abdomen, and he hurried towards the Commander, stopping just short of the desk.

‘Cullen, what is the matter? Maker, is there something I can do?’

‘I’m fine, you don’t need to-’ Cullen’s response was cut short when a groan escaped his throat and his legs almost gave way underneath him. He moved almost clumsily to his seat, letting out a loud exhale as he let it take his weight. 

Cullen closed his eyes, rubbing his brow with a finger and thumb. He was sweating. This was not like him at all; Tristan found himself on the verge of panic. For the love of Andraste he wished he would just spit it out. 

‘I- as leader of the Inquisition there is something you should know.’ When Cullen didn’t carry on, the Inquisitor moved closer, reassuringly.

‘Whatever it is, you can tell me. I am willing to listen.’

‘Right. Thank you.’ He took a deep breath, and then tried to correct his posture. ‘As I’m sure you are aware, some time ago we managed to secure a reliable source of lyrium for the templars here. Without it, some could go mad, or even die. I… have not taken it since joining the Inquisition. It has been many months now, over a year in fact.’ 

Tristan’s blue jade eyes widened. He… was not taking lyrium? Was that even safe? 

‘You stopped? But, is that safe? Are you alright?’

Cullen gave a single mirthless laugh, a dark smile curving his lips despite himself. ‘After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t… be bound to that order -or that life- any longer. I told myself that whatever the suffering, I would accept it, and be free from this lyrium leash. It has always stood for blind obedience, not loyalty. I wanted my efforts to mean more, after everything I’ve done… after everything I have regretted I-’ he sighed forlornly. ‘I had hoped that this endeavour would not be another decision to regret. I was a fool to think this selfish risk would be worth it, to think I could slip the shackles I locked with my own hands.’ 

If he hadn’t been wearing gloves, Tristan was sure that Cullen’s nails would be drawing blood from his palms with how tight the man’s fists were. Honestly, it scared him to see Cullen like this; the man was almost always serious and realistic about their options- it is what made him such an excellent commander- but the man before him now was cracked and broken, in pain, hopelessly suffering. Tristan’s heart was palpitating, his brow knitted with worry. He had to help him, somehow.

‘I don’t think it is selfish, Cullen. I think it is very brave.’ It was all he could think to say, racing thoughts and shallow breaths starving his brain of the space and energy to process much beyond the agonised Commander’s quaking voice, so full of loathing and revulsion for his very self.

‘Don’t.’ Cullen bit back harshly, rising from his seat. ‘You should be questioning what I’ve done.’ 

‘Cullen if I questioned why a man would desire freedom and agency I wouldn’t have even been at the Conclave in the first place, let alone here. Believe me, I understand-’

‘No. You don’t. You are a mage through no doing of your own. I chose this life. I have no right to lament this. I  _ chose _ it. But…’ The inside of Cullen’s mind was locked in a battle that had long preceded the one the Inquisition now fought. Thoughts and feelings that couldn’t work together viciously pulled him in all directions, leaving him reeling and with no idea how to fathom what was right and wrong. For his whole life, he had chased certainty and benevolence; working for an ineffable cause that nobody could dare disavow. Work he was surely called upon to do by the Maker himself in his plan to save his lost children. Cullen snorted. How simple childhood naivety had shaped his entire being, even now. 

The Inquisitor had no idea what to say. He simply stood there, his own fists now clenched with worry, and with anger for the life Cullen had been dragged along. He despised the chantry. Even their own could not escape the tyranny of the supposed  _ will of Andraste _ . He briefly wondered what the woman herself would think of the legacy she now held, before Cullen began to speak once more, pacing behind his desk.

‘You once asked what happened to Ferelden’s circle. It was taken over by abominations. The templars- my  _ friends _ \- were slaughtered. I was tortured. They tried to break my mind and I- how can you be the same person after that?’ 

He knew that what happened at Kinloch Hold was a tragedy- mages in every circle in Thedas were aware of that. They’d had to send many mages and templars to assist with relief efforts and repopulate the decimated numbers. But Tristan had had no idea just how much Cullen was involved, and just  _ how _ he had suffered. He wanted to be sick. 

‘Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to  _ Kirkwall _ ,’ there was such venom in Cullen’s voice as he mentioned the Marcher city state he had previously been assigned to, it made Tristan shiver. He knew what had happened there, too. But he suspected that Cullen and he would have very different views on that. He held his breath and continued to listen. This was absolutely not the time.

‘I trusted my Knight-Commander, and for what, hm? Her fear of mages ended in madness. Kirkwall’s circle fell, another collapsing around me once more. Innocent people died in the streets. Innocent people died  _ before _ the apostate blew up the Chantry, for the love of Andraste. Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with this life?’ 

Cullen seemed to be arguing with himself, with no clear grasp upon just  _ what _ he was actually trying to say. Tristan couldn’t just watch this any longer.

‘Cullen-’

‘No. Before you say it, it  _ isn’t  _ alright. I thought this would be better- that I would regain some control over my life. But these thoughts won’t leave me! How many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this cause… I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry. I should be taking it!’ Cullen’s fist impacted upon his bookshelf, sending several tomes scattered to the floor. His voice became quiet in anguish. ‘I should be taking it.’

Tristan watched Cullen in silence for a few moments. The Commander was breathing heavily, shoulders hung in defeat. He cared a great deal for the man, even if in another time of their lives, they would have been mortal enemies. As it was, Tristan could only look upon the damage that the Templar Order had dealt this kind, fiercely passionate, and ultimately  _ good _ man, and allow it to add to his kindling, feeding the firestorm of rage that always lay in the depths behind the sea of his eyes.

‘But that isn’t what you want, is it?’ Tristan worked to keep his voice calm, anxious tides threatening to crash through the wake of his sincere words. ‘This doesn’t need to be about the Inquisition. It is about  _ you.’ _

Cullen looked up at the Inquisitor for the first time since he had begun pacing. His molten gold eyes were so full- of anguish, and of rage. It wasn’t clear which, if any of them, would win.

‘The Inquisition must come above all else, Inquisitor.’

‘No, it doesn’t. You give enough. I will not have you spend more of yourself than you can give for this cause. We work for the future of everybody. That includes you.’

Cullen’s brow creased deeply, and his gaze lowered to the ground, darkening, a sure sign that the battle within himself was reigniting from the brief respite that exhaustion had brought.

‘I am weak. I cannot afford- the Inquisition cannot afford- to be weak. If I am to remain in my position, where the entire army relies upon me, I must resume… I must take the lyrium. Inquisitor you must see that!’ He took a step towards Tristan, his hand gripped tightly around a vial of glowing cobalt blood of the stone, but Trevelyan didn’t move. 

‘I do not have to see that!’ Tristan’s frustration was growing, eclipsing his sorrow as he no longer fought to remain calm. ‘Cullen Rutherford, I do  _ not _ have to see that you must do anything of the sort! You are fucking  _ strong _ ! Stronger and greater than you dare allow yourself to see! Maker’s breath, but you are stubborn! And infuriatingly determined to self destruct! Give yourself a damn break!’ 

‘I am  _ not-’ _ Cullen protested, voice loud and angry.

‘Yes! Yes you are! Cullen you can do this! You do not need to take lyrium, you’ve already come so far!’

‘You haven’t seen the state I have been in these past weeks, Tristan! Without lyrium I cannot maintain control over my own Maker-damned body, let alone an army due to battle an ancient and destructive evil for the fate of the world!’

‘Withdrawals, Cullen, they will pass! I will help you get through them!’

‘It is not your job to babysit me! You have far more important things to worry about!’ 

‘You are so fucking frustrating, listen to me! You CAN do-’

Tristan’s sentence was interrupted by the sudden pressing presence of Cullen’s scarred lips against his own. 

He melted into Cullen’s arms like butter left in the sun, his anger dissipating, and being replaced with a surprised, yet ardent passion. The office they were stood in ceased to exist; as did Skyhold, the mountains, and indeed the whole of Thedas. 

Despite the thick leather between them, Cullen’s body felt hot and insistent against Tristan as his fingers made their way into the furry mantle Cullen always wore, cradling him as their lips fumbled together, too impassioned to care about form. He only now noticed that Cullen wasn’t wearing all of his usual armour. He was glad. 

He was left breathless and frozen where he stood when Cullen hastily tore himself away, backing up. 

‘Maker’s breath, forgive me I- I don’t know what came over me.’ the Commander spoke in gasps, his hand snapping to the back of his head in his tell-tale display of bashfulness. His face was flushed bright red, his lips even darker from the intensity of the kiss and the burn of stubble. He stood still, in shock that he would become so impassioned and out of control. For a man, no less. This was… he didn’t know. 

Oh, how could he ever look Tristan in the eye again?

Tristan was no longer in the mood for thinking as the weight of a long-denied hunger came crashing down upon him. That Cullen had so brazenly initiated such a demanding kiss had him reeling. If he had known the Commander had any sort of desire for men, he might have seen it sooner- perhaps he didn’t know himself.

‘Cullen?’ Tristan breathed, meeting the Commander’s suddenly timid gaze.

‘Yes?’ 

‘Kiss me again?’

To Tristan’s relief, Cullen approached him again, this time far more shyly. He placed a hand upon the Inquisitor’s cheek, and gave an embarrassed chuckle. 

‘Maker’s breath, I...this is very new to me.’ Cullen conceded, before slowly joining his lips with Tristan’s once more, the barest hint of a smile at their corners.

-

That evening, after convincing the Commander to come to his room in favour of struggling up the ladders to his own quarters, Tristan was sat on his chaise, with Cullen’s head resting upon his lap. He sighed. He had not expected such a return to Skyhold. As usual though, there was never a dull moment.

They had spoken at length, and Tristan had promised to help Cullen to get through the worst of his withdrawals, after much resistance from the Commander. As he stroked his hand through the soft blond curls he never expected to feel, he chuckled at himself. What a pair they were. 

‘Something funny?’ Cullen’s tired voice rumbled through them both, as he stared at the roaring fire, past the empty cups of tea and stronger stuff on the coffee table.

‘Just, I’d never have expected this was how I would be spending my evening.’ Tristan smiled, still stroking Cullen’s hair. Cullen sat up and looked into Tristan’s eyes, a smile present on his face, but it failed to hide the confusion and nerves behind it. Tristan’s face dropped slightly, adopting a look of gentle concern as he guided loose curls back from Cullen’s face, before withdrawing his hand entirely.

‘I’ve never- I’d never considered any sort of, well,  _ anything _ with a man. It’s- ugh’ Cullen groaned in pain again, his train of thought interrupted; it caused his companion to sit up straight, resting a supportive hand on his shoulder.

‘There’s plenty of time to discuss that, and to see what happens. Come, let’s get you to bed. You need some serious sleep. That’s an order, by the way.’ Tristan smiled gently as he stood and pulled Cullen gently by the hand, getting him to stand up too.

‘Oh, alright.’ Cullen groaned, too sleepy and distracted by his pain to put up any sort of an argument. But he stopped short as Tristan started leading him to his own bed. 

‘But where will you sleep?’ 

‘Don’t worry about me, Commander. Just focus on getting some rest. I don’t fancy your chances of getting yourself up that ladder, I’m afraid.’ he teased. Cullen sighed in somewhat grateful resignation as he followed the Inquisitor to his bed, and stripped down to his small clothes- a plain white vest and shorts. He slipped into the bed, while Tristan made a point not to gawk at the man in less than his usual get-up. It was difficult. He tried not to fuss Cullen too much once he got under the covers like some kind of mother hen, and turned to return to the chaise, before Cullen called him back.

‘Inquisitor- _ Tristan _ .’ 

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you.’ 

Tristan beamed in answer, though Cullen didn’t see. He settled himself on the chaise with a blanket; It was still better than the roll-ups he’d been sleeping in the past few weeks.

Back in the large, cosy bed, for the first time in a long time, Commander Cullen Rutherford closed his eyes and enjoyed a whole night of peaceful rest.


End file.
